Shocker
by BelieveSherlock
Summary: Takes place three years after The Reichenbach Fall. John is moving on when Sherlock shows up and changes everything. Rated T for some suggestive content and Johnlock in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Takes place three years after The Reichenbach Fall. John is moving on when Sherlock shows up and changes everything. Rated T for some suggestive content and Johnlock in later chapters.

A/N: This is my very first fan fic and I hope to be posting once a week. Please review and let me know what you think. If there are any mistakes please let me know. I don't have a beta and edited this myself. I hope you enjoy.

UPDATE: I am very sorry that I have not been updating. I have now edited the first two chapters and am working on the third. Thanks to YiQi my very awesome friend and editor.

Today was the first day of the rest of John's life. He was moving out of 221B Baker Street. Moving to a new flat far away from the one he had shared with his best friend, his colleague, and the world's only consulting detective. Three long and treacherous years had passed. For John, these were years of mourning, grief, depression, and anger. However, starting today Sherlock's death would not, could not, control his life. This was the day where John would have to leave the past behind him and move on. Moving away and cutting off all memories of his time with Sherlock was the only way John saw to be able to start living again. The doctor needed to regain the feelings he had lost when he watched his best friend jump. He would start anew; without Baket Street, without Mrs. Hudson, without Lestrade, and without Sherlock. Maybe he could even find someone to replace the hole Sherlock left in his heart. Today was going be the first day of the rest of John's life.

Cardboard boxes covered the ground in front of where John stood. To his left was a small pile ready to be loaded in to the truck and join the furniture headed towards the new flat. To John's right sat a second pile, one that was much harder to look at. These boxes were full of books, of science equipment, and the occasional skull. All of Sherlock's belongs were sitting by the road, without their owner, and on their way to storage.

Reaching within himself, John found the energy to start his task. He had convinced Mrs. Hudson that this was something he needed to be alone for and she had left to spend some time with her sister. John knew that if he didn't start now, she would return before he was gone. They had already said their goodbyes and that was not something John wanted to do again. By moving out of Baker Street he would be leaving the old woman, who had become like a mother to him, all by herself. However they both decided it was for the best. While the two of them still lived together, everyday was a reminder of the person missing from 221B. The empty space they thought would never be filled again.

It was over an hour before John took a rest from his labour and even then it was not a long one. His knitted sweater was drenched in sweat, his trousers were covered in dust and still a pile of boxes remained.  
Sherlock's pile. Holding back the tears he could not let out, John picked up the first of those many, many boxes, intent in finishing the job. Maybe if John hadn't been so intent he would have realized that someone was standing in the shadows. Someone he believed to be dead. A certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Darkness was settling in and John still had a long way to go. He was on the verge of giving up, of going back inside, staying one more night, and leaving tomorrow. Had a stranger not started to help him he would have given up. But strengthened by the assistance, John pushed forward to finish loading the truck.

"That should be the last one. Thank you very much for your help. This move," his voice faltered, "this move hasn't been easy for me."

"I know John, I know."

The reply came in a voice that John would have known anywhere. A voice he would never forget. And a voice, until tonight, he was sure he would never hear again. John's heart raced, his breathing became rapid as he slowly turned around. There was Sherlock; the last box open at his feet and a skull in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Every noise stopped and all John could hear was the quickening of his own heart. His best friend was dead. John had watched him jump, saw him sprawled on the ground, checked his pulse. John had stood at the grave and asked him not to be dead, knowing that he was. But now, here was Sherlock standing in front of him.

His dark, curly hair covering his forehead and his long, black coat covering his even thinner body. John took one look at his best friend face and immediately wished he hadn't. The usually pale, perfect skin looked grey and was covered in cuts, scrapes, and a few things that looked a lot worse. John noticed Sherlock's mouth twitch in to a small smile, hopeful and wanting John to say something, anything. That is when John started to run.

The only thing John was thinking as he took off down the street was that someone was playing a trick on him. An evil, twisted prank. There was no way Sherlock could be back. Filled with fear, John ran until he met a dead end. As he leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath, Sherlock appeared once more. Standing over the trembling doctor, he uttered four simple words.

"John, it is me."

"But. . . How? U were . . . lying dead. Funeral . . . Grave." John stumbled, not able to form a complete thought.

"I was never dead. Yes, I jumped and yes, I was lying on the ground. You even checked my pulse, but i wasnt dead, not for a second." John saw the sincerity in his friend's eyes and all of a sudden he believed. This really was Sherlock. His friends was back, shouldn't he be happy? But John wasn't. In fact, he was filled with anger. Three years of his life had been wasted in mourning a man who wasn't dead. A man, it would now seem, who was very much alive.

"How could you have done this to me? You disappeared. You left your life. YOU LEFT ME!" This was it. John was done with Sherlock. The detective had lied to him in the worst way possible and there was nothing Sherlock could do to make the situation any better. As far as John was concerned his friend was still dead and always would be.

"I am . . . I am sorry John. I really am. I never wanted to see you hurt. The only reason I did what I did was to save my friends, you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. Moriarty had men ready to kill all three of you. My jump was the only way they wouldn't pull the trigger. I have spent the last three years collapsing Moriarty's web." As Sherlock spoke, remorse and pain were evident in his face.

John was shocked. There was really no other word to describe it. He was shocked that Sherlock was back. He was shocked that Sherlock realized he had friends. And most importantly, he was shocked Sherlock cared about him enough save him. However, even though John now knew the real reason why Sherlock had been "dead" there was still anger inside of him. Why did his friend have to leave for three years? What could have taken that long? And why couldn't he have done something, anything, to let John know he was still alive? This was Sherlock, he could have thought of a way.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you. This would have been done sooner."

"I know you would have helped John, but this was something I had to do on my own. I had to prove to myself that I could finish the job I started. The job of protecting my friends because you were right, friends do protect each other."

"Well," John spoke, giving up some of the anger, "we better get you home." Home. Where was home for John? He was going to leave Baker Street because Sherlock was gone but now the detective was back. It is not like John wanted to leave his old flat. He liked the location, he loved Mrs. Hudson, and he cherished the memories he had made there. After a long pause, Sherlock spoke once more.

"You know that I can tell you are hurt, right? While I may not understand how you feel, I am trying. Can we please just go back to the flat?"

"Yeah okay. Let's go." The pair returned to the sidewalk in front of 221B and moved all the boxes back inside, together.

On their last trip inside, John spoke and broke the silence. "Sherlock, I'm glad you're back."

**A/N thank you very much for being patient with this story. Also, please review and let me know what you think.**


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